


This Is How We Begin

by coverofnight



Series: Break Me Down [2]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-10 21:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12307710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coverofnight/pseuds/coverofnight
Summary: Prequel to Cut Me Loose





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mostly for KryssiKakes and The_Saint who, if I recall, both asked for some kind of backstory. 
> 
> This truly is the beginning for these two so I'm afraid it's a bit boring at this point but there's more to come.

I stand at Vera’s doorstep out of pure curiosity...and a need for strong tranquilizers. At Wentworth, Simmo Slater awaits the deep, permanent sleep only I can gift her. Inside, Vera holds the miracle elixir and perhaps a bit of my sympathy. In my hand is the dinner I hope Vera will graciously accept as I step into her home for the first time.

_I know she will._

I have been hearing about her sick mother for some months now. Rita, Vera tells me, is stubborn and strong-willed, so much so that she refuses to let my deputy rest. All these months, I have waited on word of the woman's passing so that I may continue to mold Vera into my image. She has so much potential; there's so much we can do together.

_Not until that wrinkled old cunt dies._

Until then, Vera remains at a standstill. She can neither move forward with me nor go back to who she was before she met me. _I own her._ And she...she moves me. My young deputy is as passionate about corrections as I, and she simply aches to get a leg up in our field. Vera stops at nothing to do the job she was designed to do, no matter how misguided she sometimes may be. In so many ways, she reminds of myself. But there are other things that move me, too.

Her eyes light up when she sees me in the morning. She, and only she, smiles in my direction when we cross paths. When I charge forward through prison halls, she nearly trips over herself to catch pace with me.

_She wants so badly to please me. How can I resist the draw of her innocence?_

I can train her to be ruthless, to find no meaning in the humanity she holds so dear. Deep within her rests an untapped strength that I know is dying for release. It bubbles to the surface when I question her work ethic and it nearly peaks when I glare at her from the safety of my desk. I get such a thrill from conjuring up the ugliness that resides within her. For months, I've waited for her true self to come to light, but she always stands down to let me lead.

I know she possesses the will to rise up and claim some of my current glory. In fact, I welcome the day when she's equipped to take a place next to me at the thrown.  

_And though she be but little, she is fierce._

I ring the doorbell once knowing full well that Vera’s dutiful feet will scurry down the hall to greet me as promptly as possible.  _She's a good girl._ Vera looks deathly tired when she answers the door. She's still in uniform; her hair stands on end and her eyes convey the exhaustion of someone who hasn't slept in days. Something in this sad image of my doe-eyed deputy threatens the soul.

“Governor,” she says in surprise. And I let a small smile pass my lips.

When she jets down the hall a moment later, food in hand, I take my chance to see inside. The home is unkempt but I cannot fault Vera for that. Only the mother. When I happen upon Vera tending to Rita, my heart stops.

_Just like me and dad._

My father was strong until he wasn't; full of life until he was ill. I, like Vera, did all I could to make up for those late-in-life failings. I wanted him to be proud of me, but I also reveled in seeing him suffer. I wonder if Vera feels the same.

Rita denigrates Vera and all her hard work right to my face. How can a mother have such hatred for her own child? From experience, I know that no betrayal cuts more deeply than this. My inner gentleman wants to escort Vera from this situation and shield her from absorbing its obscenities.

_We aren't there yet._

I say this to myself as if we one day will be. If I am honest, I have not considered domesticity since my days with Jianna. Perhaps it’s time to give it a trial run.

In the kitchen, I prepare their meals. A strange sense of familiarity comes over me; it’s as if I have been here—right here in this very home—before. _Deja vu_. Without trying, I know where everything is placed, how everything works, where Vera and I belong. As always, Vera meets me halfway.

“I’m sorry about mum,” she starts to say and I hold up a hand to silence the unnecessary apology.

_One day she’ll learn. One day she'll have total faith in her own convictions. She'll rise from the ashes of that rotting trash fire in the bedroom and see the view from where I stand. One day…_

Dinner is served by my hand. She sits like an anxious child awaiting a parent’s loving touch. I dare myself to venture to that place, but in the end, I hold back. I recline in a chair opposite her, sling my elbow over the backrest, and watch her eat. She laps up everything I've served.

_She's starved._

Vera hums into her next bite. “Mm, this is delicious,” she says, mouth still full. “I'm sorry mum fell asleep before she could have any.”

I shake my head. “It’s no good puréed, anyway,” I chuckle. Vera’s eyes smile. “She can have more of your _muck_ in the morning, I suppose.” We both have a restrained laugh at this. At least Vera can find humor in her circumstance.

“Are you sure you're not hungry?” she asks me over a sip of water.

“I've already eaten, but thank you” It’s a lie. Unexpectedly, her presence fills me more than this meal ever could. I'm happy to watch her eat. Vera stuffs her cheeks with food like a tiny animal hoarding resources for a cold, lengthy winter. As long as I am here, the dead of winter is a way's off. “When was the last time you had a warm, home-cooked meal?” 

Her shoulders lift up in a shrug. “Ages. I just don't have the time anymore.”

I nod, take mental notes. Vera finishes off her meal with a large gulp of water. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?” She stands to clear the table, lifting her plate from its placemat. I intervene.

“Let me take that for you,” I offer. I gather her dishes and head to the sink. She, in the meantime, wipes down the table. _Domesticity._ As I scrub and rinse and smile at her presence a few feet from me, I find myself pondering how I've come to this moment. How have I come to serve this very different master?

Together, we tidy up the kitchen in record time. Then, she takes me gently by the elbow to give me the grand tour. The corner of my lip forms what feels like a permanent smirk.

She allows me a proper look at the downstairs: bedrooms, bathroom, dining room, living area. Upstairs, she shows me her bedroom, the one that used to be her mother's.

“We switched when she got sick. It’s easier for medical personnel to access the room downstairs,” she explains as she flicks on the light.

Inside, I see the bed on which Mr. Fletcher forced his savagery upon my deputy. It’s large enough for two, dons a floral comforter, and is painted white. I have a sneaking suspicion that this bed has been with Vera since childhood. I feel an ache in my chest at the thought. In so many ways, Vera still  _is_ a child. She’s yet to break free of that bitch downstairs and until she does, she will never fulfill her own destiny.

_She needs to take care of her mother._

Vera waltzes over to her closet and slides its doors open. I'm taken aback by the gesture, by her need to share everything with me. There isn't much inside but mess and button-down shirts, all wrinkled. “I haven't had a moment to iron them. I apologise for the mess.”

As she surveys the closet, I close in on her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She freezes beneath my touch. Then my voice goes soft. “Let me take care of them for you.” The sentence flows from my mouth more quickly and more seductively than I intend. I don't regret it.

She turns to face me, her small body momentarily pressing into mine. A pleasing quiver travels from my navel to the moist mound between my legs. I can't quite figure when my arousal began. At the front door? Over Rita’s dying body? When Vera hooked her hand around my elbow? There's so much to process tonight. 

If I thought Vera was ready, I might take her here and now. I'd gently grip her jaw, wet my lips, and slip my tongue into her mouth. I'd run hot hands over slim thighs, around perfectly shaped breasts, and everywhere in between. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

_There’s still work to be done._

“I can't ask you to do that, Governor,” she says. Her eyes spell some strange combination of gratitude and confusion.

I muffle a laugh. “Please call me Joan. And you didn't ask; I offered.” My hand trails down her arm, from the top of her shoulder to her palm. I give her hand a squeeze. “You work hard, Vera. Your mother has thrown a wrench into your plans. You need steadiness, order. Let me give that to you, at least until things settle.” I have never been one to bestow kindnesses unto others, but for Vera who has somehow burrowed herself deep beneath the warmth of my breast tonight, I am compelled to act.

She shakes her head at me in disbelief. “I don't know what to say.”

“‘Thank you’ would suffice, don't you think?” I smile as I sidestep her to collect her shirts. “You'll have them back tomorrow morning. White and crisp.”

Moments later, she escorts me out. Before I disappear into the night with my stolen tranquilizers, I have one last question for her:

“Would you like to have dinner with me later this week? Home-cooked meal.” Her blue eyes say yes but her eyebrows furrow in concern. Immediately, I make a move to ease it. “If the nurse can't stay on for your mum, I'm happy to help you make other arrangements,” I explain. 

She nods a yes and my heart beams.

_She’s got me hook, line, and sinker._


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thank you for reading and for all the beautiful comments on the first chapter of this. 
> 
> Second, I apologize for not responding to individual comments. I write/post this when I have bits of time at work, so I can rarely get to the comments in a timely manner.
> 
> Hope you like this new chapter.

The drive back home is quiet; it's so quiet that it's almost deafening. The only sound that resonates is my inner voice recounting tonight's events. How funny that Vera should find something sympathetic within me. How strange for her to know instinctively how to draw it out and make me lose the firmness of my own step.

_Perhaps she is smarter than she lets on._

Tonight, I haul someone else's dirty laundry into my home for the very first time. I slip Vera’s shirts into the closet beside my own, then I strip myself of my facade. I slip off my shoes, swap them for slippers and let my hair down. Unlike most nights, I skip my customary swig of vodka.

As I go through the motions of my nightly routine, a sense of weightlessness comes over me. All is good. There are no burdens left to carry. My worries are few; my happiness peaks.

Tonight, releasing the day's tension takes much less effort than usual. I suspect Vera may have already broken me down.

Before descending the stairs to the kitchen, I take a moment to pass a fond hand over the foreign shirts in my closet. _How very small they look compared to mine_. My mind wanders far into a future that may never come to pass, one where I have Vera pinned beneath me in a sweet and sultry war of naked flesh. My body overpowers hers; I am large and strong enough to crush her beneath my weight. In a flash of imagination, I kiss her pulse points, trail my tongue down the length of her belly and hold her close in love's embrace.

_Why am I so aroused by the simplest things?_

It's impossible to describe the loneliness one feels after decades of going untouched. Or how quickly that loneliness dissipates when someone's warm caresses, however fleeting, land upon your skin.

Tonight, Vera lifted the dark veil of my solitude. For the first time in years, a sweet woman did not flinch as I put my hands on her. I can think of nothing but her hand laced around my elbow, and later, my hand in hers. Tonight, my deputy governor saw me as so many before her have failed to do. Beyond the uniform and the bun, the power and the volatility, Vera saw _me._ She touched me without fear or hesitation; she deemed me fit to care for her needs.

Most importantly, she seemed to think I was _enough_. She asked for nothing more than I was willing to give. Not a single wayward comment or complaint left her lips. It was merely enough that I was there. And more than enough that we could share those quiet moments at dinner together.

_Though she sustains me, I feast. Though she purifies me, I wash._

After I am fed and showered, I lay Vera’s shirts across my bed for inspection. Some are yellowing at the seams. Some are food-stained at the chest. As I nurse each garment back to decency, I smile to myself.

_My sweet and clumsy deputy, do you know how much I've come to care for you?_

Danger lurks in the corners of my mind. I mustn’t allow this feeling to take over. I press my heels into the ground. The earth is firm, steady. Soon, Vera’s sweet image will leave the brain and logic will reign supreme. Until then, I allow flutters of emotion to rise to the surface. My heartbeat quickens. My brow prespires.

_What if it all works in my favor this time?_

I tidy up four of five shirts Vera has given me. The fifth hangs, wrinkled and unclean, at the back of my closet. Before turning in for the night, I hold it close and take in its smells, then sway drowsily to my bed with Vera’s scent committed to memory.

Once in bed, I try to think of something other than Vera. The longer I linger in this state of bliss, the harder it will be to come out of it. I close my eyes and feel the pang of longing in my chest. _Jianna._ I wonder if Jianna, wherever she is now, would approve of my growing affection for Vera.

_But I have been hardened and hurting for so long._

Now is not the time for self pity. There is much to be done. As sleep takes me away, my mind falls on Simmo Slater who will expire as planned twenty four hours from now.

Perhaps Vera would enjoy a celebratory dinner.


	3. Three

Morning comes fast, the start of the workday even faster. At Wentworth, I rest my hips gently against my car door with Vera’s shirts slung over my arm. She always, without fail, arrives precisely three minutes after I do. On most mornings, I wait so we can start our days together. But sometimes, especially when I've had a particularly trying night, my legs carry me into the building without so much as a thought of Vera.

Vera arrives as expected and parks just two spaces away. She smiles excitedly at the sight of me and waves her little fingers through the window. I stop myself from returning her smile. My cheeks momentarily flush.

_Last night seems like ages ago._

Work is a reality I sometimes wish I could forget. Here, at Wentworth and among the prisoners, I must live up to the image I have created for myself.

I await Vera with no expression whatsoever on my face.

“Hello, Vera,” I say slowly. I know she can hear a hint of amusement in my voice. It's my only tell, the only thing from which she can glean that I've some affection for her.

_At least, I think it's the only one._

“Morning, Governor,” she calls out as she approaches me. Each day, she moves me with her eagerness to be in my orbit. She's just so very willing to be mentored and nurtured.

Her eyes pass over my arm where her shirts, now draped in clear plastic, rest. “Are those…?” She stops mid-sentence as if unsure of being presumptuous.

“Yes. Where would you like…?” Before I can finish my sentence, she nods in the direction of her car and leads the way.

_She likes me to serve her. And I like it more than I should._

The car alarm beeps and she opens the back door for me. “You can just...lay them in here.”

I nod and bend over to place them on the backseat. When I stand tall again, she puts a tender hand to my hip. It is, no doubt, an innocuous gesture but one that stops my steady lungs in their tracks.

_I can't breathe._

I flinch at the touch but manage to keep myself calm. I almost can't face her.

“Thank you, Governor. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.” She smiles up at me and blinks her eyes in that girlish way I find so devastatingly surreal.

“Of course, Vera. My pleasure. Come,” I say as I absentmindedly place the tips of my fingers to her shoulder. Like this, I escort her to the gate of our beloved prison.

Inside, our steps fall perfectly in line with one another's. No one can deny the power we hold in our hands, or how well we wield that power together. Seas of prisoners and personnel part ways as our unified body moves forth. Here, at Wentworth, Vera and I live and breathe as one. She is the shadow that follows me into the trenches and the mirror in which I see my best reflection.

My body tingles with desire for her. It has since the moment we met, only I have been lying to myself for far too long.

_Emotion leads to mistakes._

But only I know best that it leads to so many other things as well. _Pain. Vulnerability. Love._

I can no longer deny the darkness and desire that lives within. I must have her. I must make her see that I am more than what she knows of me. More than even she could possibly understand.

I am a woman of instinct rather than intuition, but something deep inside tells me that Vera can already see. She knows my power, my vulnerabilities. She sees all of me without really knowing me.

_Am I really such an open book?_

For her. Only for her. I think I can live with that. 

*******

In the evening, I ensure the safety of my treasured Bea Smith by taking a needle to Simmo Slater’s arm. Slater expires quietly and without incident. Smith, now cornered from every angle by death, stands just a few feet away. Her unusual combination of power and compassion becomes her.  

_She is what I aim to make of Vera._

Vera steps into Slater’s cell beside me, attempts to find a pulse, is disappointed. I know death moves her in a way that does not affect me.

 _Soon_.

Soon, she'll understand. For now, she sits in my dimly lit office looking distressed as she so often does when an unfortunate situation befalls our prison. _Our home._ And I sit opposite her at the edge of my desk, offering her what words of comfort I can find in my memory bank.

She begs for understanding.

“But Governor, what more can we do for the women? How else can we show them that we see them? I hate that this happens so frequently.”

And there it is. She sees us all.

“It's my fault,” I say. I am being moderately honest, in part because I want her to see me here and now. I hang my head. “I haven't done enough for them.”

She jumps to her feet before me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “No! No, you mustn't think that way. You're only doing your best.”

_Am I? I have upset one and killed another. Am I truly doing my very best?_

Her hands move soothingly up and down my arms. I rise up out of her grasp and loosen my tie as I move toward the window.

“Governor? Joan?” she inquires after me. So, she has learned to call me by my name.

But it’s all too much. I feel my chest go tight and my heart pump rhythmically in my ears.

_Fight or flight._

So, I turn around, hands on hips, ready to chase my own vulnerability away. Instead, I wait and look at her expectantly. “How about some dinner?”

Vera nods an enthusiastic yes. And so, our courtship begins.


	4. Four

Vera follows me home from the prison. My heart is in my throat. It's been an age since I have had anyone come to my home. If memory serves, the last was a young woman who reminded me of Jianna. First, I served her dinner. Then, I served her in bed.

Despite my own wishes, I imagine that tonight will go very differently with Vera. She isn't so readily aroused by me as that other girl. She also isn't as forward.

The drive back home seems long, and likely even longer to Vera. I check the clock—it's later than I thought. Evenings at Wentworth have a way of making the time fly. I wonder if Vera will consider spending the night.

The road ahead of me meanders into a blinding darkness where my mind gets lost in the memory of that other woman. The woman whose lips were sweet when kissed and whose eyes rolled back in pleasure when I touched her. My lovemaking made her skin sweat and her mouth cry out. I can still feel her frizzy curls beneath my fingertips.

She was the closest I ever came to reliving my days with Jianna. But even she, as close a match as she was, fell short. She was her own person, someone completely separate from me. She and I could have never been _one_.

At least Vera is someone all new. With her, I can start fresh. I can mold and manipulate her to my liking. I can show her that I am the only master she wishes to serve. It’s evident in every wayward glance, every blink of the eye, every bated breath she expels when I am near her.

_She is meant for me._

Vera parks curbside and hustles to meet me at the front door. I smile back at her as my key turns in the lock. With a light push of the door, she and I are both safely inside. I drop my keys on the table in the foyer and begin to release my hair from its own prison. I turn to her. “You can set your things on that chair,” I say, nodding toward the living area.

I watch her do as I say and then she stands, eyes wide and hands folded over her belly, to wait for me. My hair falls to my shoulders and I throw my head back to shake it free. “Come, Vera.”

My voice seems to draw her to me; inch by inch she comes nearer until she's comfortably at my side. We walk to the kitchen where I begin to inspect the refrigerator. “What would you like? I left chicken defrosting this morning.”

Vera shrugs and smiles at me from her position by the island counter. “Whatever is easiest. I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

When I glance over my shoulder at her, I see that she's shrunk into herself. _Shy. Hesitant. Trembling in my presence._ I quickly extract the chicken from the refrigerator and crank up the stove top. Then I leave my post to circle round her. One hand grips her shoulder and the other her slim hip.

“Enough, Vera. You deserve this,” I explain as I guide her into a seat at my table. “It'll be done in no time at all. Just relax. You are here. You are safe. Your mother is being cared for. You have nothing to worry about.”

Suddenly, she exhales a deep breath and her shoulders go slack beneath my touch.

_She trusts me._

“This is our time, Vera. We are here to enjoy each other,” I continue. I can't stop myself from talking, from distracting her from the worries I know are on her mind. _Slater. Her mum._ I leave our conversation at that to remove my tie and roll up my sleeves. It's time for her to see what I can do with a fully stocked kitchen.

I set down a glass of Shiraz before her and then I get to work. All throughout, she nurses her wine quietly. She fidgets and squirms, looks around the room. When she catches me eyeing her, she gives me a soft smile.

“I like it here. It's comfortable,” she says politely. “But…”

“You’re still curious about me,” I finish her sentence and she perks up.

“Yes.” She puts a finger to her lips. She's not sure whether she should continue, whether I might lose my temper at what strangeness she may find in my home life. “This place doesn't tell me anything about you.”

_I've heard far worse._

I smile to myself and lower the heat on the chicken and vegetable stir-fry I'm cooking up.  I pad lightly over to her chair and direct her attention to the small sofa table behind her. There rests my favorite photo of me and my father, and the only possession my mother left for me. 

“See that photo there? That is me and my father. My mother's violin is over there,” I explain, handing the photo to Vera.

She takes her time examining it.

“You are quite attractive in that uniform,” she giggles. Then she looks at me, her eyes wide in embarrassment. “You-I mean, in this uniform here in the photo.”

I have no power over this innocent display of attraction. I allow a sly smirk to spread across my lips.  “I understand.”

And then she doubles down. “Not that you aren't attractive now; I just…”

“Vera, I understand.” Heat rushes to my face. I, too, am embarrassed. So, I say the only thing that comes to mind at the moment. “Food’s ready. Why don't you help me set the table, hm?”

 

*******

  
Dinner passes in peaceful quiet. She eats wholeheartedly and without reserve. I am happy to know she is not bashful about fulfilling her primal needs in front of me.

Conversation carries us from the dinner table to the kitchen sink where we wash and dry dishes side by side. I can see in her eyes that she is tired but grateful to be here. I ask if she needs to go home; she tells me home is not where she wants to be right now. And suddenly, I have hope that she will prolong her stay into the morning.

We seat ourselves on the sofa where she kicks off her shoes and curls up on one end. Her skirt hikes up enough so the milky flesh of her thigh peeks out. She rests her head on her hand and looks deep into me.

“Tell me more about your parents,” she says. She awaits an answer I am very reluctant to give. “They obviously mean a lot to you. Where are they now?”

As a rule, I do not speak of my origins with anyone. I prefer to remain aloof, somewhat mysterious, sometimes even anonymous. It makes the things I have to do easier, cleaner, less identifiable. But for Vera, with whom I seem to have so much in common, I break my decades’ long silence. “They have both passed on.” I can see her face change into something that resembles pity. I shake it off. “Long time ago now.”

“And what were they like?”

I try to imagine my father’s face in the photo. He is happy, proud. But he wasn't always that way. “My father was stern, harsh. He hated the stink of failure. So, I did everything in my power to rise to any challenge he had for me. There were many and our relationship suffered because of it. There was no pleasing him. I wish I had learned that earlier.”

I take a deep breath. The next bit is always the hardest part of this conversation. “And my mother...she was only in my life for a short time, but I remember the love she had for me.  For the years I did have her, she held me, took good care of me. I loved her.” 

Vera reaches over to caress my arm. “Sounds like you're a bit like both of them,” she offers.

_I could never admit that she is right._

A tear forms in the corner of my eye. I wipe it away before she has a chance to notice. It's time to change the subject. “And your parents?”

Vera chuckles nervously. “Well, dad left when I was young and mum...you met her. She's always been that way.”

“Always criticizing you?”

“Yes. For whatever reason," Vera sighs. "I have never been good enough for her.”

I realize it is my turn to reach out to her, so I shift my weight to place my hand upon her thigh. “You're good enough for me, Vera,” I say. Then, I pull away from her abruptly, afraid that I have been too forward.  
  
Vera says nothing. Instead, we allow several minutes to pass in a comfortable silence. That we both seem to quietly revel in each other's presence even after my minor indiscretion surprises me. Soon, we catch each other's gaze. She opens her mouth to speak.

“Do you enjoy living alone? I can't imagine what it's like.”

My eyes close involuntarily. I am at peace with my aloneness and sometimes even my loneliness. I feel this is something Vera can understand on a deeper level than most. It’s easy to talk to her. “I do enjoy it very much. But I haven't always lived alone.”

Vera’s eyes light up as if I have just revealed a good bit of gossip. “Oh?”

I consider very carefully what I am about to say. It could all go horribly wrong if I don't choose my words and measure my tone as carefully as possible. She mustn't think I want the same from her. _Not now_. “A few years ago, I lived with a woman.”

“A roommate?”

“No, she wasn't a roommate.” I say it slowly so she can absorb its meaning.

She does. And she accepts it. “What was she like?”

My lips press into a small smile I can’t seem to restrain. The memory of that other woman still stirs the waters within me, albeit less intensely than the way Jianna does. “She was very young. Beautiful. It was short lived. I had to move on. She…”

“Didn't understand your needs,” Vera offers eagerly.

My mouth falls slightly open at her statement. _Does she understand?_ I ache to find out, but not before the right time. _She's still got her mother to deal with._ I look at the clock near the television. It's nearly eleven. I rise from the sofa, offering Vera a hand up.

“It's late, Vera. I think you'd better go home now. Unless, of course, you want to stay the night. I can set up the sofa for you...”

“I should head home.” She slips one shoe on and then the other. “Mum will want to see me when she wakes up in the morning.”

“Of course,” I say dryly. I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

After she gathers her belongings, I see her to the door. Before she turns to leave, her giant blue eyes smile up at me.

“Thank you for dinner and for the lovely chat. It's nice to get to know you out of that uniform.”

“Likewise.” I give her arm a light squeeze. “Safe trip home.”


	5. Five

In the morning, I am reminded of the tragedy of my existence, that it does not behoove me to be soft.

_You must be ruthless._

It isn’t enough to hold firm on my convictions or to strike Will in all the places I know it hurts. The Greater Good calls for me to release my wrath upon my own worst enemy. The one whose blue eyes light up when I enter a room; the one whose soft touch still lingers on my hip; the one who stands strong at my side when tensions at Wentworth rise above our heads.

As of today, that tension reaches new heights. By the week’s end, I shall dismantle her. It's what I must do to have total control over her, over our prison, over my feelings for her.

_She will be mine._

I hear of Vera’s _incident_ from Miles who can't keep a straight face as she recounts the details of Wentworth’s newly christened Vinegar Tits. I dismiss her as soon as I have the details, but I’m certain she knows I’m shaken.

Yes, I expected Vera to stumble. I expected her sink into the abyss of failure. But I also expected her to get back up.

Now, she's lost her dignity and the respect of the prisoners. I know all too well what that can do to someone as seemingly fragile as Vera. So, I go to her with every expectation that she'll have already cleaned up and refocused. 

Instead I find a helpless and pathetic vision that reeks of vinegar and human weakness.

_My time to strike is now._

As I lean over her, I am angered by the Vera before me. This Vera conveys none of the strength of which I know she is capable.

_Is this the sporting thing to do?_

For a moment, I hesitate. I stall. Because...once I command Vera to do this, there is no turning back. Should she return from the depths of darkness with the stench of regret surrounding her, I must cut her loose.

“Go home. Take care of your mother,” I say. And she looks at me as if she understands the challenge I have set before her.  

_In this moment, we are everything I despise. She is me. And I am my father._

When I hear of Rita’s death the following morning, my faith in my deputy is restored.

_She's back on the correct course._

*** 

Chaos reigns over Wentworth. Smith isn't following my orders. The women defy all of us at every turn. Thankfully, Vera falls right in line with me.

For all the disarray at work, Vera brings a strange sense of calm. She has hardened in all the right places. The life in her eyes has died; her cheeks have gone hollow. I have effectively stolen the last trace of her innocence and now she looks to me for her sense of purpose.

_She's exactly where I want her._

She understands perfectly that what we do together is done for The Greater Good. She has learnt to accept that fact, no matter the collateral damage that falls rotten and bloody behind us. We are a two-for-one deal; you come for one of us, you come for us both.

_Smith will learn the hard way._

My perfect union with Vera is not a topic of discussion; it is a mutual understanding. One that goes deeper than perhaps even I care to consider.

Given all this, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when she arrives at my doorstep, food in one hand and an unsolicited gift in the other.

My deputy does not smile; she does not concede to her emotions. She says hello matter-of-factly and hands me the gift, a small box wrapped in red paper, in the very same manner. Vera insists that I do not open it until well after dinner, well after she's left, well after I've finished off the Shiraz.

The gift sits within my view as I settle into the sofa with my wine. From its place on top of the table, it taunts me. Mocks me. Makes a fool of me.

_I'm too nervous to open it._

But Vera doesn't know this side of me. The side that's powerless to her quiet and likely innocent overtures about what a good Governor I am. What a good _woman_ I am. She believes these things because I have shown her the way. I have taught her that the evil in me is the good in herself.

I suck in a deep breath and stretch out my arm to exchange my wine glass for the gift. I set the small box on my lap; I cannot begin to fathom what might be hidden inside.

Slowly, I remove the red paper from each corner and out slides a white, unmarked box. Then, I lift the lid to reveal what, at first glance, looks to be intimate wear.

_Lingerie._

Heat rises to my cheeks as I extract a handwritten note from the box. _For us_ , it says and my heart cannot find a steady beat. It beats loud and heavy over the excitement and confusion this little gift brings.

Never, to my knowledge, have I expressed any desire to be intimate with her. _Yet she knows perfectly well how much I would like to._ I somehow feel that I have misjudged her. She isn't at all what I thought she was. She's so much more than I could have hoped for.

But I cannot dwell on how monumental this is for us. There's still work to be done.

***

Things spiral out of my control faster than I can even register that they are happening. Bea Smith's calculated rise to Top Dog has stirred the prison. And my preoccupation with Mr. Jackson has kept my attention away from Anderson's pregnancy. Every instance of mishap or misfortune reflects poorly on me as the Governor. Luckily, I handle the pressures of the job well.

And through it all, Vera stands firm at my right hand. We do not speak of the gift or of _us._ We simply keep working, keep circling round each other like bloodthirsty animals.

She still aches to please me. She has no idea that I return that ache tenfold. I hold back my desire to touch her. I keep as much distance between my professional self and the self that orchestrates sexual release with Vera’s image in mind.  

That is, until Smith's escape during which investigators question us both about Mr. Jackson. I assure them that Smith and Jackson are involved, that they must be on the run together.

When I look to Vera to confirm what I've said, she wastes no time in answering. She does not hesitate to show me that she is on my level, that she will stop at nothing to protect what we have together.

She will lie to stay at my side, connive to do my bidding, betray to ensure our bond is above all else. She is loyal, true.

_She is ready to see all of me._

***

I stand at Vera’s door out of pure desire...and a stronger than usual need to fulfill it. She opens the door, eyes alight with understanding as I charge forth and cup her face in my hands. I kiss her long and hard before we’ve even had the chance to close the door behind us.

She presses herself against the wall to let me overpower her. My hands trail the length of her body, from her shoulders to her breasts and down below. I feel every curve, every mound of flesh--each one designed to fit perfectly in the palm of my hands. I caress her with my fingers, gently claw at her with my nails, position a soft knee between her legs. She rolls her hips into it and purrs softly into my mouth.

 “God, Vera,” I whisper as my lips part from hers.

 “How long have you wanted it?” she says between breaths. “Huh? How long?” 

She seems desperate for answers, desperate to know the depth of my desire for her. 

“Months.” I pin her arms above her head, roll my hips into hers, and let me tongue trail down her neck.

She whimpers softly at the friction building between us. “Why did you wait?”

I don’t answer. Here and now, it doesn’t matter why or how long I waited for her to be ready for me. So, I let her arms go and I begin to undress her. My fingers slip beneath her t-shirt to lift it up over her head. Her breasts are already bare and in the moonlight that seeps in through the front door, I can see that they are supple and ready for the taking. My fingers tremble as they move over the small but plump breast. As I caress her, she shrinks before me--there’s a hint of her former self still there, still ready to crumble at the slightest hint of mockery.

But this is no mockery. This is worship, pure and simple. I can feel my resolve beginning to cave under her gaze. I want to give her everything. 

Now I kiss her softly to let her know that I can be the good woman she thinks I am. I am tender and loving. I can please and nurture her.

When I lift her into my arms, she wraps those lovely legs around my waist and I take her to the bedroom upstairs. The white bed with floral linen does not move me now as it did when I first laid eyes upon it. Whatever childlike qualities Vera possessed weeks ago are long gone and now, before me, is a woman who yearns for release under my loving touch.

I take care to remove her panties and when I do, she touches herself for me. She spreads herself, allows me a full view of the beauty and delight that await my mouth. I can almost feel myself salivating, drooling over her. I lick my lips.

Her taste lingers with me for some time after this night. I never want to forget it or the moving sounds that emanated from her mouth when she came in mine. 

_Fucking hell._

I could lose myself in her. Perhaps I already have.


End file.
